


A Most Enjoyable Christmas

by Strabec



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strabec/pseuds/Strabec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two very different Christmases. Sherlock needs rescuing from one and John from another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Most Enjoyable Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This short story was written before the appearance of Sherlock's parents in series three. So the parents depicted here are alternative versions!

Christmas Eve  
Sherlock's cab stopped outside a grand Georgian house overlooking Regents park. The house was in a terrace of similar grand-looking houses which reeked of money. The type of people Sherlock imagined would still hold to such old-fashioned concepts of 'position'. Sherlock paid the cabby and stepped outside. He stood still not going near the steps which led to the shiny black door. He looked around, apart from the absence of cobbles he imagined this street had not changed since Victorian times. His breath came out as a mist which hung in the air. Although there was no snow, he could see there would be soon. He sighed. Much as he disliked Christmas, it would not be sensible to lurk outside forever. He walked up the immaculate steps to the front door with an increased feeling of discomfort, he was about to face his arch enemies, his family.  
The door flew open before he could knock and in the opening stood a woman. She was about the same height as he, and dressed in a bright pink and purple outfit. A paper hat (also pink) perched jauntily on her head.  
"Sherlock!" She drew him into a tight hug, which he returned. "my baby boy!" She continued, he winced.  
"Good afternoon Sherlock." A cool voice drawled from behind his mother.  
"Mycroft." Sherlock acknowledged with a nod.  
"Oh come now! None of that! Your brothers!" His mother said sternly and pushed Sherlock and Mycroft together. They shared a look of resignation as they put their arms around each other. They let go very quickly. At that moment John Watson popped into Sherlock's mind. If he were here, Sherlock thought, he would be laughing. He glanced at his mother. There was a look in her eye which...  
"Sherlock my boy." Sherlock's father came from another room. Slightly shorter than both Mycroft and himself, Robert Holmes had an impressive bushy beard and a severely austere nature that his brother had inherited. This nature had not passed to Sherlock, a source of consternation to both father and brother.  
They passed into the dinning room. A large rectangular room with walnut wall panels, a large chandelier hung over a long dark wood table. Silver candles sticks with no ornamentation stood on the table providing such inadequate lighting that the electric wall light had to be switched on. What was the point of the candles? Sherlock wondered, they were not there to provide light after all.  
As Sherlock sat down at the table, he let his gaze wonder. The room dark with it's dark wooden panels, the floor with it's dark red carpet, the large windows in the wall opposite letting in a steady grey light and the three male members of the Holmes family each wearing a black suit, the only colour in the room was provided by his mother. His father sat at the head of the table, his steady, icy gaze fixing on Sherlock.  
"How is the Private Detective business?" He uttered the two words as though they were something unpleasant in his mouth that he wanted to get out quickly. Sherlock sighed.  
"Private Consulting Detective." he corrected.  
"Sherlock caught a serial killer. That was nice of him wasn't it father?" Mycroft joined in. There was no look of approval on his father's face. Indeed the scowl deepened. His father did not approve of getting unnecessarily mixed up with what he considered to be a lower class of person. Mycroft didn't share that opinion, he just thought that Sherlock was deeming himself by taking so low an occupation instead of taking up an important position in the government. Mycroft held Sherlock to be selfish. Why, he would argue, would he bother to save one life when he could save so many more by working in government?  
"Please!" His mother sounded desperate. But the desperation faded quickly and was replaced by a smile. Sherlock felt sorry for his mother. He knew she was upset by the continual arguing of her family, by Sherlock's and Mycroft's refusal to get on, by their father's continual disapproval. Out of the four of them she was by far the most normal person there. It couldn't be easy for her, he reflected. For John either for that matter.   
"Lets have some music!" She said with a grin. The radio was switched on.  
"IT'S CHRISSSSSSSTMAS!" Slade bellowed out from the expensive sound system. It it did nothing to ease the thick atmosphere that had accumulated in the room. Their mother left, she was going to fetch dinner from the kitchen. It would be served in the traditional way. His father would get his dinner first, then Mycroft, then Sherlock and finally his mother would sit down to eat. Then his mother would clear away and put the dishes in the dishwasher and prepare dessert. Suddenly it struck Sherlock that this was unfair to her. However she seemed happy to do it. It also might explain why Mycroft's wife had never come back for Christmas dinner but made the yearly excuse to visit her family in Wales.  
Soon they were eating. There was absolute silence in the room apart from the clinking of cutlery on china, slurping from his father out of his wine glass and Mycroft's delicate sipping from his. Sherlock glanced up from his plate.  
"That's a lot of roast potatoes isn't it Mycroft?" Sherlock said innocently. Mycroft glowered.  
"Don't forget to finish your sprouts brother. I would want to tell your...colleague that you've been eating unhealthily over Christmas." Sherlock looked up and smiled. A very cheap remark from his brother. It proved that he had irritated him. Silence followed for a bit. But that never lasted for long in the Holmes household.  
Sherlock picked up a serving dish from the table and offered it to Mycroft.  
"More stuffing Mycroft?"  
"A colleague?" His mother asked quickly, before violence ensued (or at least preventing one of them being cut to death by the other's sharp wit.)  
"Hasn't Sherlock told you?" Mycroft said, first looking at his mother, then back to his brother raising an eyebrow. Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  
"Yes Sherlock is sharing a flat in central London with an army doctor. They're very close friends." Mycroft added with a sly smile. Sherlock glowered threateningly.  
"That's nice. Who is this army doctor?" She asked.  
"Watson. John Watson." Sherlock said levelly not taking his eyes of Mycroft.  
"Hmm, an army Doctor? Should be of some use..." His mother started to say, before his father cut in.  
"Not more than friends I hope? I didn't raise my son to be a pansy!"  
"Robert!" His mother said sharply. Sherlock could feel his temper rising.  
"Raise us? What raising did you do? Mother raised us!"  
"Sherlock!" Mycroft hissed warningly. His father's eyes widened in fury, his face was turning red, underneath the bushy beard Sherlock could see his father clenching and unclenching his teeth.  
"Now calm down!" His mother had stood up. "Sherlock, Mycroft you will apologise!" Such was the commanding voice she used, both brothers lowered their gaze and muttered in barely audible voice.  
"sorry mummy."  
"sorry mother."  
It was going to be a very long five days...  
Barely three hours since arriving, Sherlock was already checking his phone every five minutes silently begging for it to ring. He never thought that he would ever be grateful to the police but right now if Lestrade called him in the first thing he would do would be to kiss him. However the phone remained stubbornly silent. Now sitting in the lounge, roaring fire quietly cooking his right ear, Sherlock looked at his brother in time to see him quickly putting his hand in his pocket. So, he thought, he wasn't the only one hoping for a quick exit. His father was standing by the window puffing on a cigar. His mother entered carrying a tray of sherry. She smiled at each of the men in turn as she offered sherry, but only Sherlock returned it. She held his gaze for slightly longer before removing the tray. Yes, he thought, you'd have to be willing to put up with a lot, to put up with a Holmes.  
"Now how about a game? How about charades?" She said cheerfully. This was met with a universal groan.  
"Not after what happened last time!" Robert said looking back into the room.  
"Cards?" she suggested. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.  
"Ok, maybe not." she said. Her mind mulled over the various games they had around the house. Trivial Pursuit? No, not after the incident with the little plastic triangles. Monopoly? No, not after Robert and the top hat...but that wasn't entirely Sherlock's fault, he was only seven at the time. Colditz? No, they had spent seven hours one Christmas arguing over the rules..ditto the Lord of the Rings game...  
"How about watching the television?" She said with a smile.  
"Why not?" Sherlock agreed. "Maybe Jeremy Kyle's on." All three turned to look at Sherlock in astonishment.  
"Really?" His mother said, a genuine amused smile touching her lips. She looked at the television paper. "Oh here it is!"  
"NO!" Robert and Mycroft said together.  
"Two against two, but I have the remote so I win!" She said triumphantly. She sat down with Sherlock and put her arm around his shoulders. And together under the disapproval of Mycroft and Robert they started to watch.  
Sherlock and his mother shouted enthusiastically at the screen. She laughed when Sherlock explained the reasons why so-and-so couldn't possibly be the father of so-and-so. Why person A was lying when he said he was with another woman. Sherlock realised with a shock that he was experiencing an entirely new feeling. He was enjoying himself. For the first Christmas in years he was actually feeling sufficiently distracted. Then Sherlock's mobile rung. His mother looked at him, the laughter dying in her eyes. She removed her arm from his shoulders, a soft, sad smile on her face.  
"Sherlock."  
"It's Lestrade. Look I don't want to bother you..."  
"Nonsense. What's happened?"  
"A murder. A guy found dead in his bathroom in a body bag. Strange thing is that there no sign of anyone else having been in his flat and no sign of how he died."  
Excellent! Sherlock thought. "I'll be right there."  
Mycroft looked at him suspiciously. Sherlock ignored him and turned to his mother, but she had left the room.  
Excusing himself from Mycroft and his father was easy. Neither were particularly sad to see him go. Sherlock retrieved his bag from his bedroom and headed to the front door. His mother was standing there waiting for him her arms folded. Trouble. Sherlock thought.  
"Look mother..."  
"I'd tell you to look after yourself, but I know you'll ignore me." She said.  
"Lestrade is waiting..." Sherlock tried.  
"Corpses seldom get deader." She said. Sherlock nodded.  
"Look about tonight, I'm sorry.." Sherlock started, his mother raised an eyebrow, in an unmistakably Mycroft-like way, except she had a smile on her lips.  
"Two apologies in one evening. That must be a record. Your friend must be very...human."  
"He's certainly very forgiving."  
"He'd have to be. Heaven help him." Sherlock smiled. There was a moment silence and his mother took something out of her pocket. It was a brightly coloured woolly hat, in various shades of alarming pink, yellow, green and purple with a colourful bobble on top. Sherlock's eye widened in panic.  
"What do you think my chances are of getting you brother to wear this?" She asked. Sherlock laughed. "If you do, you must send me the pictures!"  
"Oh I will. You can count on it!" She said. They hugged tightly, Sherlock could feel the unmistakable signs moistness on his cheek. His mother was crying.  
"Mother." He said, taking her by her shoulders.  
"It that life you lead. It's dangerous! You could get killed!"  
"I'm fine." He said. He thought for a moment. "I've got John! And Mrs Hudson."  
"What?" She said sounding puzzled.  
"Try as I might, I can't stop them from looking after me!" His mother shook her head grinning.  
"You! Now get along before your corpse get cold."  
"Oh I will. But I have stop to make on the way."  
Christmas Eve...Watson family household.  
Outside the front garden looked like an advert for a lighting company. A Santa was strapped to the chimney. The gnomes were decked in Christmas lights. Several lit-up reindeer looked like they were eating the frosted grass. Raucous laughter filled the small suburban house. The smell of alcohol and badly cooked sprouts permeated through every room. Tinsel was stuck to every surface imaginable. Christmas cards argued with the tinsel for wall space and a large tree crowded the small living room. John sat miserably squashed between his sister and his mother. His sister hadn't stopped teasing him since he'd arrived. Harriet was already on to her second bottle of wine. Her face was turning red. Soon, he thought she wouldn't look to out of place in the front garden. It was hard to see the television through the branches of the Christmas tree, but nevertheless it was showing some sort of game show. Harriet and his mother were both trying to shout out the answers before the person on the television, and then berating the same person when they had guessed correctly and the person hadn't.  
"They can't hear you!" John said for the fourth time.  
"Misery!" Harriet said cheerfully, throwing her arms around him. The smell of alcohol filled his nostrils and he pushed her off.  
"What about your girlfriend? What about her? Why didn't you bring her?" she asked drunkenly. John realised he could say anything at this point, she wouldn't remember a word of it tomorrow.  
"Got bored of you already eh?" she snorted and turned her attention back to the television. He tried to remember the last time he'd seen Harriet sober. She either had a hangover or she was already drunk. Sarah was still in London, she had drawn the Christmas shift at the surgery. He would have stayed in London too had it not been for the emotional pressure of his mother. He loved his mother; it was his sister that was the problem. They had never got on. They had argued and quarrelled since childhood. But what really puzzled him was that despite this, his sister was genuinely concerned for his welfare. She had offered him a room at her place, but he knew, never mind how hard they tried to get on it would still end in an argument. Still she would probably be a tidier flatmate than Sherlock.  
"What about your boyfriend? Are you mooning over him?" Harriet laughed.  
"Boyfriend?" His mother said suddenly interested. Before he could say anything Harry was singing.  
"Johnny's got a boyfriend! Johnny's got a boyfriend!"  
"He is not my... he is a friend." John said irritably.  
"Harriet stop teasing your brother."  
"Aww! But he's such an easy target!" Harry moaned. Easy target...  
A red dot, Semtex strapped to his body... John stood up.  
"Just going to the kitchen, to get some water."  
Virtually every surface in the kitchen was covered with washing up. Even the sink was full. John knew it would take him and his mother several hours to do the lot as they didn't have a dishwasher. Harry wouldn't help of course. Tomorrow morning she would have a hangover and they wouldn't see her until lunchtime. He looked through the window. The last light of day was fading, the sun shone through a gap in the trees. Frost was still on the ground. Each blade of grass in frozen glittering perfection. The sun's light reflected on the frozen crystals and for a moment the back garden looked as though it was filled was glittering diamonds. It was momentary however and the sun sunk beneath the horizon. Lights were coming on in the gardens next door, as the nightly competition for loudest Christmas light display took place. He sighed deeply. From the living room he could hear the unmistakable signs of his mother and Harriet accompanying Aled Jones singing 'Walking in the air'...badly. He winced as they missed most of the notes. He filled up a glass of water, wondering whether it should actually be vodka. They started singing along to 'White Christmas." It was going to be a long holiday.  
The doorbell rang.  
"I'll get it." John called out. There was no lapse of noise from the living room so they probably hadn't heard the doorbell or him. As he walked towards the front door, he entertained the thought that it could be Sherlock, come to rescue him from his family Christmas. Preferably with a good murder up his sleeve. Unlikely he thought, firstly Sherlock had no-idea where his family lived. Secondly, his phone hadn't rung. Then he remembered. Harriet had hidden his phone when he arrived so he couldn't 'sneak off'. It was probably carol singers. Though carol singers on Christmas eve appeared to be a rare sight these days. He opened the door.  
"Sh..Sherlock!" He said in surprise. "How did you..? Why are you here?"  
The first shaky notes of 'Jingle Bell Rock' reached them from the living room. John winced, Sherlock pulled a face. Then he looked at John, he flashed one of his lightening fast smiles.  
"I'm rescuing you." He said, John grinned.  
Christmas Day about 7pm...  
Sherlock was slumped on the coach watching the television. He heard John coming down the stairs from his room. As he opened the door John yawned.  
"Up already?" John commented.  
"Haven't been asleep." Sherlock commented.  
"Christ Sherlock! We've been up all night! We didn't get in until 10 o'clock this morning!"  
"So?" John starred at him, then shook his head heading for the kitchen.  
"What have we got in? I'm starving." John went to the fridge and hesitated before opening it. Thankfully, when he did open it there was no head staring back at him. Unfortunately there wasn't much food either.  
"Um..." Sherlock started.  
"We haven't got any food have we?" John went to the freezer. In the last drawer he opened he found a pizza.  
"We could order a takeaway?" Sherlock suggested.  
"I think they're all closed over Christmas. I've found a frozen pizza."  
"That will do." Sherlock said. John put it in the oven that sat down in front of the television. Suddenly he started laughing. Sherlock cast a lazy eye in his direction then frowned.  
"What is it?"  
"Frozen pizza." John said. "Christmas is supposed to be turkey, stuffing and drinking to much."  
"You have a problem with frozen pizza?" Sherlock asked, a slight smile on his face.  
"Pizza? We were chased, shot at, almost arrested for house-breaking..."  
"More fun than turkey and stuffing though." Sherlock commented. John nodded.  
"And you solved the case." John added.  
"That too." Sherlock said dismissively. "A most enjoyable Christmas."


End file.
